The Power He Knows Not
by Fee-fi-fo-fum
Summary: What if the power the Dark Lord knows not is not love, but a Sacred Gear that awakens the night his parents die? With the soul of an ancient and powerful sorcerer sealed inside him and a family legacy he can barely understand, let alone try to live up to, how will Harry tackle the Wizarding World? And even if he does, there's a whole wide Supernatural world waiting for him...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story. This prompt was not leaving my head and I finally wrote it down. It will be a one-shot for now. If it gets a good response, I will expand on it. For more details about the direction I eventually plan to take this story in and the eventual pairings, please refer to the author's note at the bottom.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own either Harry Potter or Highschool DxD.**

**Note: If it is not obvious after reading this chapter, I need a beta. One who can help me correctly structure the paragraphs and help me with my tenses. English is not my first language.**

**Prologue**

From a bird's eye point of view, it was easy to see that the devastation caused over the last few decades. Mountains laid broken, either into small pieces that had rained down to the ground; or completely vaporised by one highly focused beam of power. Forests lay uprooted, the soil they once stood on wholly eroded. Craters riddled the ground – further evidence of a struggle between beings of high power. In short, the land looked barren, and with the high concentration of magical power in the air, it would remain unfit for civilisation for many years to come.

Surveying this scene were two beings, each renowned in their respective fields. One was a handsome-looking man with long blonde hair and green eyes. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about him was the 14 golden wings sprouting from his back.

"This has become an utter mess," he sighed as he turned to his companion. He was an ancient-looking man whose most distinctive features were his silver hair and beard, each reaching his waist. Despite the difference in their powers, skills, and age, the golden-winged being felt safe in confiding in his companion. At the end of the day, he was _the_ most powerful human born till now, and with it came the responsibility to use the power wisely, a skill he learnt from a young age.

"Yes, who would have thought the conquest against other pantheons to establish your religion as the only religion on this planet would lead to world-wise destruction?" he quipped sarcastically, causing the winged being to grimace.

"Ah, yes," he admitted grudgingly. "I may have allowed my pride to get the better of me. You don't need to rub it in, Merlin."

"Pride?" the most powerful sorcerer born scoffed. "Pride may have started the war, but it was your greed and lust for power that continued the same. And where did it lead us? Most pantheons have already withdrawn from the planet as they cannot take the flighting anymore. Mother nature herself has rebelled, twisting the natural energy of the planet to a perversion of what it once was. And the less said about the mess with Trihexa, the better."

"True," the blonde-haired man admitted. "But perhaps it is for the better. With the pantheons all withdrawing, it will perhaps allow humans to thrive finally. And I have a feeling that my pantheon will not be one to have a direct say in things on this planet for too long, either."

Merlin glanced at his friend of many years at his last remark but didn't contradict him. Despite how healthy and immaculate he looked; Merlin was one of the few beings in the universe who could look past the exterior at the being's actual power. And what he saw left no doubt in his friend's fate in the upcoming battle.

"Sealing Trihexa took a lot of you, didn't it?" he questioned his old friend in a soft tone.

Rather than answering the obviously rhetorical question, he asked, "I have a favour to ask of you." At the sorcerer's raised brow, he continued, "I would like to seal your soul in a sacred gear."

A long silence proceeded these words. A stone-faced Merlin stared into the distance as he mulled over his friend's words rather than lash out immediately, as he wanted to. Occlumency was such a nifty little thing he had picked up over the years. Say what you want to about the Black family, their penchant for the mind arts was at another level altogether.

"Why?" he finally asked. "Why should I consent to this? Have I not suffered enough in life that rather than go on and live happily ever after with my loved ones in the Afterlife, I should torment my soul to constantly roam the planet; moving on from one soul to another; never finding any peace?"

The being known as _God _winced slightly at his friend's biting tone. However, he looked into his old friend's eye and replied honestly. "Because it is needed," he said plainly. "While I am no seer and have limited powers of fate and destiny, I do know that a time will come when the seal on Trihexa will be broken. What will proceed and precede it would be a war that will be easily as bad if not worse than the one we have waged now. The world _will _need your wisdom and power."

And your worry about eternal torment ... I give you my assurance that your soul will move on to the _Afterlife _after your death. Only a sliver of your soul, containing the entirety of your memory and power, will be sealed into the sacred gear."

As soon as he finished that statement, he knew he had made a mistake with the way the most powerful sorcerer's face twisted into an ugly grimace. "Are you saying that you will make my soul as one of those monstrosities known as a Horcrux?" he demanded.

At hearing those words, _God _felt his own face twist into a grimace, one that he had no control over as he understood his friend's revulsion. Throughout his existence, he had never come across something as vile as a Horcrux. "No!" he exclaimed; a tad more vehemently than he meant to. "When I said a sliver of your soul will be sealed into a Sacred Gear, I believe you have forgotten my power over Creation. I was merely going to create another soul, mirror your soul in that, and use it to create the Sacred Gear."

"Oh.." was all Merlin said. All was silent as he once again contemplated the request, his worst fears assuaged. Thinking it over, and not finding any reason to reject the request, he gave _God_ his decision.

"I will agree to, provided," he loudly continued as he saw _God _about to interrupt him, "provided," he repeated again, "some conditions are met."

"And what are they?" _God _asked. Knowing his friend, he knew they would not be too outrageous.

"I know that giving Sacred Gears to humans is a way to help them counter the threat Supernatural beings pose them. However, being a human, and with experiencing all I have with Mordred, I know of the dangers humans pose one another. I shudder to think what a human with the power of a Longinus can do if they go off the deep end." As he finished, he actually did shudder as he imagined what someone like Mordred would have done with one of the 13 Longinus.

"Hmm, I do see your point," _God _agrees. "So, what conditions do you want to impose?" he asks. He has a feeling he knows where this is going and is fully willing to accept the condition. In fact, it ties perfectly with his own ideas regarding his final Sacred Gear.

"I would like to have a say in the host's ability to access my powers," Merlin names his condition. "If I feel that my host is power-hungry, or plain mad, I refuse to surrender my power to him," he states with a tone of finality.

"I have a feeling that either your hosts will not need your power or will not be worthy to wield them till the time of the battle comes. This will allow you to be a hidden weapon, one that not even my angels are aware of. I believe that will be enough to tip the scales to our side. So, I agree to your request," _God_ says with a smile.

They exchanged a look and nodded at each other. An understanding, borne out of years of being friends and battling alongside one another, is reached between them. A small ritual later, one that drained _God's _power even further, the two beings once again re-joined the struggle between the three factions. The battle that would be the last one before a temporary truce broke out, the one that ended with the death of the 4 Maou Satans.

And the one that ended in the death of the Biblical _God_.

_**A few thousand years later, Godric's Hollow, circa 2001**_

He woke up with a start as in from a deep sleep. It was a sensation that he had unfortunately gotten used to, one that he experienced whenever his host awakened his Sacred Gear for the first time.

He expanded his senses to feel out his new host's body. It was a check he started doing every time since his fourth host. It had been a nasty shock to his system when he realised his host was a woman. Now, don't get him wrong, he appreciated the opposite gender as much as any straight male. However, experiencing life from a women's perspective, being privy to her every thought, was more than he bargained for when he agreed to have his soul become a sacred gear.

He frowned as he felt the dimension of his host's body – and it was a he – is entirely incorrect. Everything just seemed so small! Sending a short burst of magic into his host's body, he experienced the world through his host's eyes. Everything seemed enormous, and it seemed to be moving at a fast pace – as if someone was carrying his host and moving at a rapid pace.

Just as he was making the assumption that his host was in the presence of a God from one of the Pantheons – their original size was almost 20 feet tall – he felt his host being put down. He saw his host's kidnapper moving to barricade a door, trying to put as many obstructions as possible. He frowned while internally wondering just how much of protection those mundane barriers like chairs and boxes will provide just as the kidnapper turned around to face his host once more.

The theory that she might be a Goddess may turn out to be accurate as he took in his first sight of her. Long red hair falling down till her back, an hourglass figure, a beautiful face, skin a pale-white which made her emerald coloured eyes stand out even more – the women was absolutely gorgeous and was easily one of the most beautiful women Merlin had seen in his long life as a wizard and a sorcerer.

He felt the women pick up his host and coo over him. He expanded his senses a little more to hear the women's words. "Don't worry, baby. Everything will be alright. Everything will be alright," she repeated herself as she began to sway his host. "And don't you ever forget! Papa loves you, even if he is now gone. And Mumma loves you. Mumma will always love you!" she exclaimed as she kissed his host on his forehead. "And Mumma will always watch over you," she finished, her voice steady but Merlin could easily make out the grief in it.

As the words washed over him, Merlin realised with dawning horror that his new host was, in fact, a child. And while he knew that humans could awaken their Sacred Gears earlier in life at times of high stress, he had never come across a human being able to awaken one so early in life. _For heaven's sake, what can cause such a small child enough stress to awaken me!_ he thought when he got his answer as the door was blasted open.

He felt the mother drop his host back in what he now recognised as his cradle and moved to block him from the person who blasted down the door, her arms wide open, as if to shield him.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she pleaded, as she begged the attacker to spare her son.

"Stand aside you silly girl... stand aside, now!" the attacker responded, and Merlin could not help but shiver at the maliciousness oozing out of that voice.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –" his host's mother pleaded, and Merlin could not help but feel for the women, his heartstrings tugged at the sheer love the women had for her son and the sheer desperation and fear in her voice at the risk her son's life faced.

"This is my last warning," the attacker warned, and something struck Merlin odd in this exchange. Why would the attacker be so focused on trying to kill his host, who, by all accounts, seemed to be a year-old human? And why would the attacker, one who oozed so much maliciousness, be willing to spare the mother? Something was not adding up.

And there was something else that was bothering Merlin about the attacker, something tingling his magical senses, like a long-forgotten dream. He frowned, and extended his magical senses to the maximum, temporarily overpowering his host's soul. It was not something he could do for a long time without damaging his host, something he could for an even lesser time considering his host was so young, but his gut was telling him that it was important. And if there was something a lifetime of magic and multiple lifetimes as a Sacred Gear had taught him, it was to trust in his gut.

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ...Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything ..."

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" And Merlin felt the last of the attacker's patience fade away as a bright green light lit the room. He recoiled as he felt the sheer hate in the magic – and he recognized it as magic – as it struck his host's mother's body. She dropped to the ground, dead, soulless green eyes staring at the ceiling as Merlin said a prayer for the woman's soul, hoping Michael or Gabriel heard him, saddened by her death and inspired by her bravery and love for her child.

As he was doing this, he felt something change in the air. He felt a presence he last felt many thousand years ago, when he was but a teenager, as the air became electric and supercharged with magic. It happened for less than a second and even Merlin would have missed its presence had he not had his magical senses extended to the maximum.

But, he had, and he felt the magic in the air settle around his new host. He could not help but take in a sharp breath of air as he finally understood the nature of the magic that surrounded his new host. "Clever girl," he muttered in admiration. "Clever, clever girl." Ancient magic surrounded his host, protective to the extreme, powered by the love of his mother, enabled by her willing sacrifice. There were very few people that the ancient warlock had ever admired and even fewer left him in awe, but this woman had quickly joined that list.

As he looked up at the attacker, he once again recoiled as he finally understood what his magical senses were warning him earlier. With no one to block his view of the attacker, he could finally see and feel the sheer _wrongness _coming from the attacker. The attacker raised his wand and pointed it at his host's forehead and smirked as if savouring the moment.

As he absentmindedly noticed that his host had started crying, he observed the attacker with as much concentration as his attacker was studying his host, trying to understand how one man could have so much hate in their body, trying to understand why he made every magical sense in his body scream at him to end this abomination in front of him.

The moment ended as he heard the attacker opened his mouth, the words "Avada Kedavra!" coming out of them as the same green light went out of his wand as the one that killed his host's mother. Merlin could only smirk in anticipation as the ancient magic around his host got agitated at the attacker's gumption to harm one under its protection, at how the magic in that green curse got absorbed by the protection.

The ancient magic, not satisfied with just absorbing the harmful magic that would dare harm one it was meant to protect, took a little of the child's own magic – and it was quite a sizeable amount, especially for one so young – and shot the same curse back at the attacker. At twice the speed and twice the power. The attacker, with how close he was standing to his host, didn't even have time to look surprised as his own curse hit him, the power of the curse so much that it blasted the body apart, leaving not even ashes in its wake, before going on to strike the ceiling and repeating the same.

_Damn!_ Merlin swore as he beheld the results of the protection his host's mother wrought. _I would not have wanted to get on her wrong side if I were alive, _he thought in amusement before sobering up as he remembered that she was now dead and his host was most likely now an orphan if what she said about his dad was correct as well.

He was pulled out of his reminiscing as magic filled the air once again. A spirit rose from where the cloak and wand lay; the only evidence of the attacker's presence after the ancient magic was done with him. The hideous face of the attacker formed on the spirit before it rushed out of the now open ceiling.

As all the pieces clicked in Merlin's head, as he finally realised why the attacker gave him the sense of complete _wrongness_, as he finally realised how one human can hold so much hate, a second, smaller spirit with the same deformed face of the attacker seemed to form as well. With dawning horror, Merlin realised precisely what it was as it rushed towards his host. _"No!" _Merlin shouted, fear giving way to anger as the piece of the attacker's soul tried to merge with his host's body.

The protective magic around the child repelled the soul with contemptuous ease. If it was any other scenario, the piece of the soul would have clung onto the child, tried chipping away at the child's defences, leeched off the child's magic in a desperate bid to survive.

However, these were not normal circumstances. Merlin, enraged at the thought of Horcruxes, seeing what the piece of soul was trying to do to his host, lashed out with his magic. Even if the full soul of the attacker was trying to burrow into the child, like a parasite, what chance would it have against the most powerful sorcerer to ever live?

As for the small sliver of the soul in reality? It was ejected out of the body of the child, with prejudice. Merlin, not satisfied with doing only this, and with a natural hatred for all things Horcrux, entrapped the piece of soul in a sphere of magic. And then the mental avatar of the sorcerer, stone-faced, eyes blazing with arcane energy, enclosed his right hand, making it into a fist. And the sphere of magic outside mirrored the action, squashing the piece of soul between it.

As the wail of the dying soul reverberated throughout the air, as the child finally felt the effects of the stress its body was put under in the last few minutes and was forced to shut down and fall asleep, the magical portion of Great Britain finally released a collective sigh of relief as the war that had plagued it for the last few years finally came to an end.

Soon, they would all raise a toast to James and Lily Potter for their sacrifice, and to baby Harry – for not only surviving the Killing Curse but for killing the Dark Lord Voldemort as well. With the leader's death, his followers were either captured or killed. Some were let off in a clear sign of corruption. Life in Magical Britain moved apace as things slowly went back to normal.

Meanwhile, Merlin kept a watch over his new host. He knew that it was not over. He knew the attacker was still out there, with at least one more horcrux. But, even if he managed to get a new body, his host would be ready. For not only did he have ancient magic protecting him, but he also had another weapon. A Scared Gear – one who had the knowledge and the power of the greatest sorcerer ever to live.

The power the Dark Lord knows not.

**A/N: So you guys made it this far? Thank you. Please review what you liked and disliked. I'm open to constructive criticism but flamers will be ignored. **

**As I mentioned in the first author's note, I am in obvious need of a beta.**

**Now, as for where I plan to take this story...it will start at the end of Harry's 2****nd**** year. The first few chapters will follow Harry's life in Hogwarts as he grows into his powers, both natural and with his sacred gear. They will explore different characters that I find interesting, each coming with their own backstory. Unfortunately, that means that the main DxD plot will not start till the end of the war against Voldemort – something that will take me at least 10 chapters, even if I condense the main plot. **

**As for pairings, they would probably be a harem since it is Highschoold DxD. I have 3 people in mind – Daphne Greengrass, Fleur Delacour, and a genderbent Vali Lucifer. I have a very interesting plot point with Vali in mind and I absolutely cannot wait till I get there... **

**Till then, please follow, favourite, review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, did not expect such a response. 100+ follows in just one chapter! Thank you to the 11 people who reviewed, it motivated me to write this chapter even quicker!**

**Huge shout out to Hardwin Potter who has graciously helped me to Beta this chapter! Amazing work done by him!**

**Disclaimer: I still do now own either HP or Highschool DxD. (Do I need to do this at the start of every chapter?)**

**Prologue Part 2 – The Conversations That Changed Everything **

**No.4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England circa 2013**

Twelve years had passed since his host had awakened him for the first time and a lot had happened since then. His host had been sent to live with his only remaining family – a bunch of ordinary humans. The mages of Wizarding Europe called them Muggles, but it sounded like a derogatory term in Merlin's mind.

However, if there ever was a family that deserved to be called a derogatory term, it was the Dursleys. Sure, they may never have physically abused his host, but the emotional abuse, coupled with the lack of effort in stopping their son and his friends from hurting his host was equally bad. And don't even get him started on the physical labour his host was put under. Honestly, who makes a 6-year-old child cook?

However, the monotonous routine did change on his host's 11th birthday. He had finally found out that he was a wizard, and a Potter to boot! Oh, he had such high hopes that little Harry would become the first host of his that he would contact, teach, and eventually bond with as he had seen other Sacred Gear users do.

Merlin had been faithful to his promise to the God when he said that he would not just let any random host use his powers. He had set 2 conditions a host has to fulfill before he would contact them. The first, obviously, would be the willingness to use the power for good, to help people, and to protect the helpless from the many forces in the world who would take advantage of them. The second was to show a respect and a burning curiosity in understanding the intricacies of Mother Magic. In a way, the two conditions were linked with one another. Anyone who truly understood Mother Magic would use that knowledge in helping others.

So far, Merlin had not found anyone who satisfied both these conditions. Sure, he had some hosts who wanted to learn Magic and its minutiae, but it was mostly for their understanding and not to help the world at large. He never made contact with any of them. On the other hand, some people had the heart of a hero but were only interested in gaining power. They never appreciated or respected the arcane energy that made up their power. Merlin had seen the perils of this route a long time ago. His first apprentice and his greatest regret ... Morgana Le Fay wanted to help people. She didn't want others to face the injustice magic wielders of that time were forced to undergo. Her heart was in the right place. But she never understood Magic. And Magic, in turn, never understood her. Her power – and she had plenty of it – twisted her completely making her a shell of the person she once was.

However, Merlin was hopeful that Harry might become the first host of his to break this cycle. Oh, he was so hopeful. His mother was genuinely exceptional, of that Merlin had no doubt. And he was a Potter. A Potter! That family was infamous even before he was alive. If you heard the name Potter, you could be assured of three things – insane magical power, an ability to use it in combat in ways that had War Gods taking notes, and a sense of justice that had Gods of Justice beam with pride.

And so, Merlin was excited.

But, as the years passed by, he felt more and more disappointed. Don't get him wrong, his host was a Potter to the bone. Extremely brave, a high sense of justice and empathy, the willingness to throw away his own life to save others ... his host was a hero, plain and simple. And a phoenix coming in to help him was further proof of this.

But heroes trained their whole life to reach where they have. Harry, on the other hand, had a fascination with being normal. He rarely spoke up for himself, never studied more than he had to, always put in enough effort to get the job done and not an iota more ... it was frustrating for Merlin could feel the potential his host had, he just needed someone to draw it out of him. And a good kick up the butt to set his priorities straight!

Despite his personal feelings, Merlin gave the boy his help a couple of times. He first helped him almost a year ago when he came face-to-face with his parent's murderer while trying to stop him from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. Not that Merlin believed it was the Philosopher's Stone in the first place. He just shook his head at his host's naivety at falling for what was obviously a trap for the Dark Lord.

Still, putting his body on the line to stop a Dark Lord regaining power was worthy enough for Merlin to release an area effect spell in that room. It messed with Quirrell's mind enough that he thought the best way of stealing the stone from his host was to take it physically from him. He knew his host had no chance if Quirrell used magic. And with the ancient magic protecting the boy against the Dark Lord, he knew the outcome of the battle before it even began. The ancient magic lashed out against the man possessed by the Dark Lord, utterly destroying him.

The next time he helped the boy was just a few days ago. This time, he agreed with the boy's logic. His best friend's sister did not have too much time left, he knew where the chamber was, he had to go down to save her. Again, his presence was subtle but vital. And like the previous time, he just cast a single spell – to direct the Goblin-forged sword into the mouth of the basilisk. His job was not over. He also sent the need to stab the fang of the basilisk to destroy the accursed diary. A horcrux used to attack students and show the world that you are the "Heir of Slytherin"? Just how many of those blasted things had that mad-man made?

Still, he has hope. And there is time ... Harry is but a child who would turn 13-years-old in a few weeks. There is plenty of time to go for him to mature and start living up to his family's legacy.

**At the same time, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office, circa 2013**

The annual end-of-the-year meeting was usually a very mundane affair. Which students were struggling, so and so student had done something praise-worthy, Severus making his usual blunt and impolite statements that had Pomona erupting in anger.

This routine had changed since the last year. With the disaster that was the confrontation between a Voldemort possessed Quirrell and young Harry, the meeting had gone in a different track. Severus bemoaned the trio's lack of common sense in chasing after a teacher with only a year's knowledge in their heads; while Minerva was horrified that she didn't do more to stop the young trio when they brought their concerns to her. Privately, Albus agreed with both of them.

This year's meeting was going on a similar track. Pomona was rightly upset with the attack on the students and the mental trauma they all suffered in the horrible business with the Chamber of Secrets. Filius was raising the point of the education missed by the petrified students over the year. Minerva was distraught that one of her students was possessed for an entire year and she missed it. Perhaps she was overburdened with the various responsibilities she had?

All brought up valid points, though. Albus would have to arrange a mind healer for all the petrified students as well as young Ms Weasley. Perhaps one stationed at Hogwarts next year for any student who felt the need for one as well? Something to contemplate on later.

Albus would also need to arrange for tutoring sessions during the summer for the students. Perhaps sessions on Defence Against the Dark Arts to cover up for the catastrophe that was Gilderoy Lockhart. He has to find out how Tom's curse against the DADA post worked. It was high time the students learnt how to defend themselves properly. Especially with what is coming.

Coincidently, Albus was not the only one in the room thinking along these lines. And the second person gave voice to them, something Albus would never have predicted.

"We need to do something about the quality of magic the students are showcasing these days," Severus cut into the awkward silence that he descended in the room after the discussion on the fallout of the Chamber of Secrets had ended. Seeing he has the attention of the Headmaster and the other Heads of Houses, he continued. "They need to stop behaving like dunderheads."

"Severus," Pomona reprimanded, "This is a school. We teach students to control their magic, to stop them from harming themselves and society as a whole. The syllabus was decided a long time ago and has proved effective in achieving our goals. And I don't see any students having magical accidents, do you?"

"And all students are dunderheads in your opinion, Severus," Filius admonished dryly.

"Except your precious Slytherins," Minerva teased him lightly. It was good to see the camaraderie between them, Albus mused. It had taken a long time for the other members of the staff to trust Severus. However, giving the magical oath to always protect the students of the school, as mandated to become a Head of House, went a long way in burying the distrust caused by his past mistakes.

"I am being completely serious," Severus replied. If his expression didn't sober up the mood, the tone of his voice did. "This is the 2nd year in a row that the Dark Lord has made a bid to return to power. With how brilliant he is, and knowing the magical properties of three, I feel that his next bid to return will be a successful one. I do not know when he will return, but I fear it will not be much longer."

"Our Centaur friends in the Forbidden Forest are saying he will return in 2 years," Albus cut in drawing horrified looks for the rest of the staff. "They do not know what methodology he will use to return or what the fallback will be. They say that he will return on his third try on eve of the summer solstice."

"Fallback?" Minerva scoffed. "We do not need to know Astrology to know what the fallback will be, Albus. I doubt anyone here has forgotten the effects of the First War. In fact, we see it every day at Hogwarts. What used to be a batch of more than 100 students a year is now not more than 50."

"And that is exactly my point!" Severus brought up. "It will not be long before he rises to power and starts the war once again. And the students need to be prepared. I can count the number of students who can survive a war on one hand and still have fingers left over."

"We do not need students to fight our war," Pomona cried, horrified at the very thought of that happening.

"Tell that to the Dark Lord when he's targeting them and their families," Filius cut in quietly. There was a lull in the room as all of them thought back to friends and students who had lost their lives too early due to the attempts of a mad man and his followers. They remembered the days when they were called by the Auror Department at the dead of the night to inform them that so and so student's families had been brutally murdered that night. They remembered having to console the distraught students who were suddenly left orphaned.

"Which are the students who you think will be able to survive the war?" Albus asked Severus. Age and the experience of already witnessing a war in the 1940s helped him to stop his reminiscing short before his thoughts spiralled further into this depressing territory.

Severus grimaced before he replied. "As loathe as I am to say it, Fred and George Weasley."

"Oh, really?" Minerva asked, curious about his thought process.

"They are not willing to follow the norm set out by us and in books," he explained. "They experiment with magic, learn and unlearn every day, and are better for it. In fact, I am willing to go as far as to say that despite being just fourth years, they probably have the best understanding of Charms and Potions in Hogwarts. It will not take them too long to change their application of magic from pranks to combatting against the Death Eaters."

"Oh, that is so true," Filius squeaked excitedly. "They may try to dumb down their abilities, and while it may work on the general populace, I can easily catch their true understanding of the subject!"

"They are not half bad in Transfiguration, either," Minerva butted in with a smile. This was the equivalent of her saying that they were really, really good in the subject.

"Which brings me back to my original point," Severus said. "Do you remember the abilities of the Dark Lord's most dangerous followers? While the average Death Eater may only have the ability to point his wand and shoot an Unforgiveable, his Inner Circle were another matter altogether. The abilities of Lucius, Bellatrix, Dolohov, Rookwood are a cut above even most of the Elite Aurors."

"And even if we forget about them for a minute, do you remember the time I was a student? We had the Prewitt twins, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Shacklebolt, Amelia, Marlene, Vance, Babbling. And then there were the Marauders. As much as it pains me to admit it, they were brilliant. Remus was a prodigy in DADA, Black was something else in Charms and Curses, Potter was such a savant in Transfiguration that he was being hailed in the international community as the next Albus Dumbledore, and then there was Lily. Need I go on?" he questioned rhetorically.

"Compare them to the students now. Do you think they are even remotely equal?" he snorted derisively. "And what makes it even worse is that the current crop of students is filled with heirs to ancient houses."

"Are you spouting the pureblood nonsense again?" Minerva asked with a scoff.

"Pureblood nonsense?!" Severus sputtered, too angered to form a coherent sentence.

"Minerva," Albus cut in firmly. "He did not mean that, and you know it," he reprimanded his assistant. "Muggleborns have the same ability to rise to the top as we do. But you cannot deny the advantages the ancient houses have. Some of them have been blessed with Magic for more than thousands of years, and their line has remained strong."

"Exactly!" Filius said. "Goblins have long kept track of this. While the pureblood movement has become a mockery of what it once was, there is no denying the fact that some families have produced extraordinary wizards every generation for thousands of years. The Blacks, Potters, Longbottoms, Bones, Prewitts are some that come to mind."

"Yes," Severus cut in, reigning in his temper to further establish his point. "Just look at what the eldest two Weasley siblings have accomplished already. While born Weasleys, who are a decently powerful magical family as well, there is no denying that the Prewitt blood is shining brightly in them. The same can be said for Percival and the twins."

"That does not make them better than other wizards," Minerva argued. "Albus and Riddle are both half-bloods and the most powerful wizards to be born in the last few years."

"You do not understand this Minerva," Albus replied. "We are not saying that being born to an ancient family makes them the most powerful. Or even the best in their field. They are just born with an innate ability in magic. How they capitalize on that is their prerogative."

"And it is not as if the two people you mentioned do not belong to ancient houses," Filius said. "Dumbledores are renowned for their knowledge and research long before Albus became famous for the same. And Gaunts were always known for their powerful magic and insanity."

"And I never implied that a Muggleborn could not become their equal," Severus sniffed haughtily. "Despite one being born a Muggleborn and the other a Black, Lily and Bellatrix were equally matched on a battlefield."

"Alright," Minerva conceded. "What you say might be true. But what does that have to do with our previous topic of discussion?"

"Because the current students have so many heirs to ancient houses! And what are they doing? The Bones heiress is an average student who is nowhere close to living up to her ancestor's names, the Longbottom heir is afraid of his own shadow, the youngest Prewitt boy is too entrenched in jealousy to do anything. The son of a Malfoy and a Black is an entitled and spoilt brat whose go-to response for anything is to complain to his father. And how the son of James Potter and Lily Evans could be so untalented in magic is simply beyond me!" Snape finished his passionate rant with a shout before huffing for breath.

The other professors didn't say anything as they all agreed with his words. They had all been excited to see what the son of James and Lily Potter could achieve. The last two years had left them completely underwhelmed.

"So, what do you think we should do?" Albus asked as a twinkle entered his eye. The twinkle told them that he had an idea, one he definitely thought was clever and brilliant, but he wanted to hear if the others had any inputs to give.

Everyone looked at Severus who shrugged helplessly. "I told you guys about the problem. However, don't look towards me for solutions. I can barely tolerate the little brats. I have no idea how to help them."

The remaining staff rolled their eyes at the Potions Master. It was a well-accepted fact that Severus was a Professor because of his role as a spy in the war. He was not a pleasant man, by any means. He viewed the word with a lens of hate. The only reason the rest of the staff accepted him was that the person he hated the most was the Dark Lord. And he would do anything to destroy him once and for all.

After a moment of contemplation, Filius broke the silence. "I think," he said slowly, "what we lack is a catalyst. Someone who can show the rest of the populace the wonders of magic beyond books and what we teach them. Someone who can be a rallying point, who the rest can look up to. Not someone who wants to stand out, but someone who will take others with him on the journey to exploring the wonders of magic."

As the others nodded in agreement, the twinkle in Albus' eyes brightened even further. "I may have an idea. I just need to find some old documents first."

**Smallest Bedroom, Number 4, Privet Drive – 2****nd**** June, 2013**

A 12-year-old bespectacled sat on a windowsill, looking out of the window while ruminating over the life he had lived so far. Growing up, as far as he remembered, he was the unwanted nephew of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

He had been a glorified slave to the family. His aunt and uncle had forced him to do chores since he was old enough to do them. Cleaning and dusting the entire house, cooking breakfast, mowing the lawn, anything that struck the fancy of his sadistic relatives, he was forced to do. All this while, they made no secrets as to how unwanted he was at the house.

His room till shortly before his eleventh birthday had been the cupboard under the stairs. He was only given the castoffs of his much bigger – both in height and girth – cousin, leading to his clothes always hanging off the frame of his body. And he was never given a single penny of money with which he could buy things for himself.

Despite all this, there were certain limits the Dursleys never crossed. While his cousin may rough him up a little on occasion, his uncle and aunt always stepped in before it became too much. And they never raised a hand on him. Well, they never did since the one time his uncle got really mad and took it out on him when he was six years old. He didn't know what happened, but he woke up the next day completely healed, and his Uncle had left him alone since then. Knowing what he did now, someone from Hogwarts must have figured out what had happened and had stepped in.

But that incident helped set certain boundaries in their relationship. The Dursleys started treating him much better. They fed him proper meals at least thrice a day (he was lucky to get two proper meals a day before that) and the chores that were given to him never increased. Other than that, they left him alone. In return, they demanded only two things from him – that he never showed his "freakishness" in public and embarrassed the Dursleys, and that he never showed the world that he is better than his cousin Dursley.

Considering that his cousin was monumentally unmotivated to study, that was extremely hard to do. Harry has to dumb himself down _a lot_ to comply with that rule. But he did it, foolishly believing that doing so will bring him some form of affection from his only known family.

Thus, he led a lonely and unwanted existence in Privet Drive. He had no friends as Dudley never let him have any. And he stopped reading, his favourite pastime at one point, as he had to show the world that Dudley was smarter than him. Instead, he spent his days dreaming of a world where someone came to save him from his monotonous life, one where he was treated with the same love and affection that his Aunt and Uncle gave his cousin. At other times, he had the same dreams any child has – of fantastical powers that he uses to save the day and punish evil.

He felt he had received a new lease of life when a half-giant knocked down the door to tell him he was a wizard. He suddenly felt he had a second shot at life, one where he can leave behind the unpleasantness of the Dursleys and finally be who he wants to be. That dream lasted all of 12 hours before he stepped foot into Leaky Cauldron for the first time. Learning he was the Boy-Who-Lived and what it meant had put a damper on those thoughts. And, once again, certain expectations were levied on him – expectations that he had no say in and expectations that he felt he did not deserve.

So, he rebelled. The feeling of being a normal child, lazing around playing games with your best mate, was too great for him to pass up. And so, he didn't. He went through the last two years putting the minimum effort required to get an 'Acceptable' while spending the rest of the time playing Quidditch, discussing Quidditch, or reading about Quidditch. He also played chess sometimes. He hoped that after two years, everyone got the hint that he was nothing more than a normal kid like each child at Hogwarts was.

Of course, the _incidents _at the end of both his years at Hogwarts spoilt his efforts. He did not know how, but by the end of the year, rumours of what happened with Quirrell and in the Chamber had spread across the entire school. While there were a few who scoffed at them, others thought them to be true. So, he was always ended the year in the spotlight, ruining the effort he had put in throughout the year to appear normal.

His rumination was disrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Glancing at the watch and noticing it was close to five in the evening, he wondered who it was. The Dursleys were not ones to get unexpected guests.

"_We have no need of your freakishness here!" _he heard his uncle shout. _"Get out. You and your kind are not welcome here!"_

Knowing that his Uncle only behaved this way when it came to the magical world, Harry leapt down the stairs to see who the visitor was. And, lo and behold, in his bright purple robes, gleaming silver beard tucked into his belt, stood one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore – Order of Merlin, First Class; Supreme Mugwump; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; and Headmaster of the school he goes to. He gulped as he realised that no matter the capacity, a visit by someone holding any of those titles did not mean good news for him.

"Ah, and here's young Harry," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "As I was telling your uncle, I need to borrow a couple of hours of your time. Perhaps we should adjourn to your room?"

"What part of you and your kind being unwelcome here did you not understand?" his uncle shouted angrily, his face turning red as he realised, he was being ignored. In response to his uncle's threat, Dumbledore just raised his eyebrow before smiling. However, something about that smile unnerved Harry. It was not a pleasant smile. It was a smile that said, run. Or I will fuck you up.

"So, do you prefer Harry and I do our business here in front of your house rather than in the privacy of his room?" he questioned merrily. "I certainly don't mind. Harry," he continued as he looked at me, "please bring some parchment and a quill while I conjure a table and some chairs here. Perhaps in the garden? The view is really beautiful there. Oh, and do remember to bring your wand," he continued merrily as he took out his own wand and started making a move towards the Dursley's garden.

"No," Vernon shouted, panic lacing his tone while glancing at the neighbouring houses. "You can't do that freakish stuff in front of us normal people like that."

"Oh, so do you have a solution for that?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully as his eyes twinkled again. Harry had to stifle a laugh as he saw Vernon's face turning even redder. Finally, he grunted out, "You can use the boy's room. Just make sure you that all the freakishness is done there. And leave us normal people alone."

"Excellent idea. If only I had come up with it earlier," Dumbledore shook his head in faux regret before entering the home. Harry failed to hold in his snigger this time. Dumbledore's eyes continued to twinkle merrily as he shifted his focus towards his student. "Let's take this to your room, Harry. I'm assuming the items I mentioned are in there already?" he asked as he moved further inside the house.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied dutifully before leading the old man up the stairs towards his room. As he was leaving, he saw Aunt Petunia peeking inside the room with a bitter look on her face. Behind her stood Dudley, failing to use his mother as a shield. He was simply too big. As he started climbing the stairs, he saw his cousin holding his butt as if trying to protect it. Seeing that, he couldn't help but grimace. While he may have laughed at his childhood bully getting a taste of his own medicine at that time, he felt nothing but sympathy now. Bully, he might have been, but no one deserved having a pig's tail surgically removed. The trauma must have been horrendous.

As they entered his room, he felt heat rise to his cheeks at he saw Dumbledore survey the room. The walls were frayed, the paint that once coated them long gone. The cupboards were broken while the bed was lopsided. Broken toys littered the room. All in all, the room looked in a terrible condition. He heard Dumbledore hum as his eyes swept the room before they saw the broken grills outside the room. He merely raised a brow before his eyes shifted to the door and saw the various locks as well as the cat flap on it.

"It seems as if I will have to have _words _with your relatives before I leave," he commented. His tone was ominous, the words carrying a current of power that Harry could barely identify. Images flashed through his mind – earthquakes cracking open land, volcanoes erupting, hurricanes ripping apart everything in their path. And all of this stemmed from the man in front of him. The twinkle in his eye, usually so prevalent, was now noticeably absent. Instead, his eyes flashed with power, pure arcane energy – something old, something new. A heavy presence filled the air as he suddenly found it difficult to breathe, each lung full of air a chore to take in.

As suddenly as it came, it went away. A grim look was on the aged Headmaster's face before he visibly forced a smile on it. "So, shall we get on with things?" he asked genially, his voice now back to what it typically is. Harry could only nod shakily before he stumbled towards his trunk to take out some parchment, a quill, and some ink. His wand was also stored in the trunk.

He took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down. He had always seen Dumbledore as a kind old man, a tad eccentric but wise beyond measure. Through this, he had forgotten that the man had already defeated a Dark Lord in single combat and was said to be the only man the next Dark Lord feared. This was just a hard reminder that beneath the genial old man lay the most powerful sorcerer in the world. It would be a lesson he doubted he would ever forget.

Getting a hold of himself, he turned around to face the old man again. "Why are we meeting like this, sir? Am I in some sort of trouble?" he asked meekly. Okay, so he was more affected by that show of power than he thought.

Dumbledore pretended not to notice it as he smiled genially, this time more genuine. "Nothing of that sort, dear boy. Just a little fallout from what happened at Hogwarts last year. But first, how about we make ourselves more comfortable?" With that, he swept his wand around the room. As he did, cupboards started repairing themselves, his bed straightened up before the mattress became slightly plumper. The broken toys started vanishing one after another, after which the space they occupied was used for a working desk and a chair. Another twirl of the wand and another chair appeared on which Dumbledore sat.

Harry's mouth dropped open as he looked at the room in awe. All in all, the room looked unrecognizable from what it once was.

"Please sit, Harry," Dumbledore motioned him towards the chair by the desk. "Now, as I was saying, this pertains to the events of last year. As you recall, I had cancelled the yearly exams. This was done to make things fair for the petrified students and after taking feedback from the professors that most of the students could hardly concentrate on their studies with the petrification going around."

"However, this has led us to a conundrum. The professors need a baseline on which they will start next year. They need to know how much of the previous year to cover before starting the things they were supposed to teach in the new year. Thus, we have decided to go to the students' house and make them answer a few questions on each subject they took last year."

"Now," he continued at seeing Harry's expression, "Don't panic. This is not an exam. As I said, it is to help us understand where to start next year's syllabus. I apologise for springing this upon you so suddenly, but we figured it would be best to do so when everything is still fresh in your mind."

"So," he continued as he twirled his wand once again and a parchment filed with questions appeared on Harry's desk. "If you would be so kind as to answer these questions. Now, don't worry about remembering the exact wordings of the theory, please write them in your own words. In fact, I insist on it. It will give us a better understanding of your comprehension of the subject."

Harry just stared at the man, absolutely terrified. Despite the words, this felt like a surprise test. He continued to stare at the Headmaster, his eyes pleading for a reprieve. But Dumbledore just continued to look at him happily, his eyes twinkling madly. This continued for a minute before Harry, seeing that he was going to get no reprieve, reluctantly started writing the "exam".

The next two hours passed this way as Harry struggled to remember what he was taught last year while Dumbledore took out some papers and started going through them. The "exam" started with questions from Charms before moving on to Transfiguration, History of Magic, Astronomy, Herbology, DADA (thankfully nothing like that stupid test Lockhart gave them on the first day of their classes), and ending with Potions.

After answering as much as he could, which was not as much as he hoped it would be, he gave the answers to the Headmaster who put the papers he was going through back in his robes. After collecting the answers, turned to the young boy and asked, "Are you ready for your practical exam?"

"Bu-But," Harry stammered, "I thought we are not allowed to use magic outside a classroom."

"While that is normally true, special permission has been taken from the ministry for this purpose," he replied happily.

"Oh," Harry replied a little tremulously. He thought he had dodged giving the second "exam". Seeing no other choice, he picked up his wand and looked at the Headmaster.

"Good," Dumbledore replied before conjuring a beetle. "Why don't we start with you transfiguring this beetle into a button?" And this was merely the first of multiple spells that Dumbledore had him perform for the next 20 minutes. While Harry felt he performed decently in some spells, he knew he had messed up at least as many. The only spell he was sure he did perfectly was the Disarming Hex – Expelliarmus.

All through the exam, Dumbledore didn't say anything but Harry couldn't help but feel as if he was disappointing him. As the exam wore on, Harry felt smaller and smaller, and by the end of it, he could not look at Dumbledore in the eye. Unfortunately for him, the torture didn't end there. Another swish of a wand summoned ingredients from the Headmaster's robes while another one conjured a flame on his desk. Curiously, the desk didn't burn.

"Now, you see these ingredients before you. All of them are used in a particular potion taught to you last year. You need to correctly identify the potion and brew it," Dumbledore stated as he picked up the parchment with Harry's answers. His tone, however, carried none of the disappointment that Harry felt earlier. In fact, it seemed to be its usual, cheerful self.

Harry just stared at the ingredients trying to rack his brain as to which potion needed them. After a few seconds, he was relatively sure that they were used to brew the Pepper-Up Potion. As he started cleaning his cauldron before setting it up, he tried to ignore the sound of Dumbledore scratching on his parchment as he went through his answers.

Half an hour later, he was done. He knew the potion was not brewed perfectly but felt it was okay enough. He turned to look at Dumbledore, who was staring at him silently. His face was blank, and Harry had no way of understanding his current emotional state.

"Tell me, Harry, that if this was an exam, do you know what your results would be?" he asked, his expression still carefully blank.

"No, sir," he replied meekly.

"I have a feeling that you do," Dumbledore replied shrewdly. "In any case, let me enlighten you. You are fortunate that this is not an exam, and the results will not be recorded. You have barely passed in half of the subjects. You have failed in the remaining ones."

As Harty hung his head in shame, Dumbledore made no move to comfort him or give him false platitudes that it was not a real exam, it was just to test his knowledge. In fact, Harry was beginning to suspect that Dumbledore was trying to teach him a lesson, and he had a sinking suspicion on what it was.

Instead, the aged Headmaster reached into his robes once again and took out two small folders, each the size of a matchbox. One tap of a wand was all it took for them to return to their standard size. He passed them on to Harry.

The young boy, rather reluctantly, took them. On opening the first one, he gasped as he saw its contents. He stared at it reverently as he saw the Hogwarts file of his father. As he started to skip through the contents, he saw that his father ended up in detention more often than not. A majority of those times, it was with another person named Sirius Black, but there were many detentions with people names Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

He heard Dumbledore chuckle. After sending him a questioning look, the Headmaster replied. "Your father was known for his penchant for creating mischief with his group of friends, not unlike the Weasley Twins." Harry smiled at hearing this. Looking at the smile, Dumbledore continued quietly. "In my last meeting with Hagrid, he mentioned how little you know of your parents. While there are many things the professors at Hogwarts can tell you about them – and we most certainly will do so if you ask us next year – I thought having a reference point for your parent's time there might help.

Harry smiled at him in gratitude before he froze as he reached the end of the folder. The last piece of parchment contained his exam scores and achievements. He saw the gleaming batches denoting his status as Quidditch Captain and Head Boy. Below that were seven pieces of parchments with his scores at the end of every year's exam. To his growing mortification, he saw that his father never got a score below an 'O' in any exam. In fact, his father was consistently ranked second in his year. On top of that, he saw that his father had some of the highest scores ever recorded in Transfiguration.

"What is it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in concern. "You look quite surprised by something."

"It's nothing, Headmaster," Harry tried replying with a smile. He was sure he didn't pull that off. "I was just surprised by some of the things here. I barely know anything about my father. I don't even know what I was expecting, to be honest," he admitted truthfully.

"That's alright, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied kindly. "In fact, why don't I leave these folders here with you," he suggested. "This way, you will be able to study them in detail and have a clearer picture of who your parents were. When term starts again, the Professors and I will be able to tell you stories behind the words here. If you wish for that to happen, of course," he added.

"You will do that?" Harry asked in surprise. "Yes, please. I would love that!" he admitted before his brain finally caught up with what the Headmaster was implying. With a hitch in his breath, he opened the second folder. Sure enough, they were his mother's records during her years at Hogwarts.

Going through them, he saw that his mother was no stranger to detentions either. While nowhere close to the number of detentions his father received, she an average of one detention per week as well. He smiled as he saw the detentions she received increased in number from her sixth year onwards. Quite a few of them were with her father as well. They had started dating by then, he assumed.

As he reached the last page of the folder, however, he froze. He was unsure if he wanted to see his mother's academic records. All he knew of his mother was that she was Head Girl along with his father. If the trend was going to be similar, he had no doubt that her academic performance would have been at par with his father's.

Steeling himself and calling upon his Gryffindor courage, a trembling hand finally turned the last page of the folder. And promptly, a heavy feeling settled in his stomach as breathing became difficult. He felt tears prickle his eyes as he saw the gleaming Prefect and Head Girl badges pinned there. The feeling grew worse as he saw that his mother had not scored less than an 'O' in any subject in any of her seven years either. In fact, she had stood first in her year for all seven years with simply phenomenal scores in Charms, Potions, Runes, and Arithmancy.

He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned gently. On receiving a questioning look from the aged Headmaster, he continued in the same gentle tone, "You are crying."

Surprised, Harry swiped his hand across and face and saw the truth in his words. It seemed as if the tears prickling his eyes had finally fallen. Rubbing his eyes angrily, he looked at the Headmaster and opened his mouth before shutting it after a few seconds.

"What is it, my dear boy?" Dumbledore, noticing his hesitancy, continued asking in his gentle tone. "You can ask me anything."

Harry nodded before opening his mouth and pausing. After a few seconds, he shut his mouth again, not able to voice his thoughts. Summoning up all his Gryffindor courage, he finally asked in a very quiet voice, "Do you think they would hate me, Sir?" On seeing Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, he continued, "My parents, I mean. I saw that they were the best in their year in academics while I achieve barely Acceptable grades. Would they hate me for it?" he continued before he finally broke down and started crying.

Dumbledore's heart broke on seeing the condition of the boy. He hated what he was doing right now but felt it was a necessary evil. And so, he replied honestly, while taking the young boy in his arms and hugging him deeply, "Oh, my dear, sweet boy. Your parents loved you very, very much. Anyone who knew James and Lily knew this about them. You meant everything to them. I doubt they would ever be able to hate you."

He continued saying similar words as he rubbed circles on the boy's back. When he finally felt the boy calm down, he pulled back and made sure to look the boy in his eyes. "However, if you want the truth, they would be extremely disappointed in you." On seeing the boy hunch backwards, he continued, "If there was one thing that both James and Lily valued equally during their time in school, it was academics. Whatever shenanigans they did during school never took precedence to this."

Harry nodded his head as he felt like crying once again. In all almost 13 years of his life, he had never felt this bad. He felt the truth in the Headmaster's words – his parents would have been disappointed in him. He remembered back to his childhood when all his teachers praised him for the first and last time that he was a gifted student. In fact, they had sung praises of him to the Dursleys. Of course, this resulted in them demanding he never show up Dudley again, but where had all that intelligence gone?

He remembered his love for books before he stopped reading altogether two years before he started Hogwarts. Looking back, he could see where things went wrong. No more, he vowed to himself. No more will he procrastinate like he used to. He would learn and understand magic at the same level as his parents and finally make them proud!

On seeing the determined glint in Harry's eyes. Dumbledore smiled to himself as his plan started coming to fruition. To drive the final nail in the coffin, he asked Harry, "Harry, my boy. Do you mind if I ask a question?"

Harry broke out of his reverie and looked at the Headmaster and nodded his head. "Why have you not put in your utmost efforts in your studies till now? I can see you are a very bright student when you put your mind to it."

Harry thought of telling a lie but suddenly felt his Headmaster's expression shift. His eyes scanned Harry, and the boy felt as if he was put under a scanner. Unable to take in the discomforting feeling it brought, he capitulated and said the truth, "Because I just want to be normal!" he yelled, and he realised how good it felt to admit the truth to someone finally. "Everyone looks at me and expects to see some prodigy, like some boy wonder! They just see the Boy-Who-Lived! But I am none of those things! I am Harry, just Harry." By the time he finished, he was huffing and puffing for breath as if he had run a marathon.

Dumbledore's expression shifted, and Harry felt as if he finally understood something. "I often forget the effect the beliefs of a family have on the children living there," he admitted. "I can see that you don't get along well with your relatives, but you have still adapted to their ideology." On seeing Harry's confused look, he elaborated, "This strive to be seen as normal ... you received it from the Dursleys, did you not? After all, that was all your uncle could shout about when I met him downstairs."

Harry stared in disbelief at the Headmaster. As much he wanted to deny his words, to rage and scream against them, he could not deny the logic in them. He had heard Hermione once mention to him a saying regarding Snape – talk about growing up to become what you hate. And it suited him perfectly here. After all, despite everything, did he not strive for the same thing his relatives did – normalcy?

As his world came crashing down for the second time in the last fifteen minutes, he was dimly aware that Dumbledore continued talking. "While you may have seen life being lived with one philosophy since you can remember, perhaps you can think of another point of view during the summer vacation? Personally, I have found normal to be boring. Being different is what makes you human. Everyone is different because everyone has at least one trait that makes them different from anyone else on this planet. And as you grow older and meet new people, you see these different traits. At times, you resonate with that point of view. And at others, you simply shake your head in disbelief. But, at all points, you learn something new. And as you incorporate all these learnings, you finally grow as a person. So, don't strive to be normal. Your parents were not normal, your ancestors were not normal, _I _am definitely not normal," he finished as his eyes started twinkling once again.

Harry thought on these words and could see the truth in them. He felt an inner voice agree with them. Considering this inner voice only showed up at crucial times of his life and is yet to steer him wrong, he felt he should listen to it again.

'_And why shouldn't I!'_ he thought. _'Not only do I want to grow up to be as un-Dursley as possible, but looking at the files of my parents, I can see that Dumbledore is correct. I have a different goal now! I will study hard; I will stop wasting my time wondering what other people are thinking of me. I will be someone who people all over the world will look at and look at in awe. I will become someone my parents can be proud to call their son. I will become the best!' _he thought fiercely, new determination shining through his body.

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review, it really helps me write faster. **

**For the readers of my old pokémon fanfiction, should I start writing it again? **


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